Rebellious Angel: Christmas Wishes (Marsden Descendants Book 1)

by Dawn Brower

  He cringed and opened his eyes at that thought. Because they'd had a few years with little activity in the form of fighting for the rule of Norway, his father believed he should take a wife and start a family of his own while there was time to enjoy it. Birger wished to announce Björn's intended on the final night of Yule. "Twelve days," he muttered under his breath. "Twelve days until I never have peace again." There wasn't a woman he particularly wanted to tie himself to, and the ones who knew of his predicament and were trying to win his affections were doing so the wrong way. Following him around and giggling or trying to prove they were just as capable of sword play as him. Constantly challenging him as soon as he woke and tried to break his fast. Never letting him have a moment to himself. Hence his retreat to the forested hillside.

  He was Björn the Untouchable. Fierce, frightening, and feared by his enemies. Yet all he wanted was to be left alone. Whispers stated that King Olaf had ambitions of uniting all of Scandinavia under Christian rule, but many—like himself—had been reluctant to disregard the old gods for the new one. Björn couldn't keep his faith, so why should he lose his sense of self by marrying before he made the choice? It wasn't like his life would change if he committed to a loveless marriage. Still, he dreaded it more than he probably should. His father had married for love; why was it so important that Björn rush into it and not do the same?

  His worries faded from the forefront of his mind as a stag wandered out of the brush and stared at him, ears twitching. Björn's first impulse was to draw his bow, but the sudden movement would only startle the creature, and besides, all the food required except the daily catch of fish was already obtained for the feasts over the next twelve days. Why should he kill the stag when, like him, it longed to be left alone?

  The deer turned abruptly and then darted back from whence it came. At first, Björn wasn't sure what could have spooked it, but then a voice emanated from beyond the trees. Someone talking. A woman, if he wasn't mistaken. But who else would be out here in the cold and not gathering in the great hall for the solstice feast?

  As he strained to hear what the person disrupting his solitude was saying, hoping he wasn't about to intrude in an intimate encounter of some sort, he furrowed his brow as he realized why it sounded irregular. Many of the words had Danish inflections. While the two countries spoke the same language, at least for now, there were minor differences that a trained ear could pick up on if they had spent a lot of time around Danes. But what was a Danish woman doing in Norway during the Winter Solstice? If someone in the village had married her, it was against his knowledge and his father assuredly hadn't told him.

  Unsure if there was an attack threatening his homeland, Björn crawled through the underbrush toward the voice. Was this an attack on his father to take control of his territory as the Danes sought to rule the country once more? The voice grew louder, and he flattened himself in the dirt, staying completely still to determine which direction the woman was heading. He slowly drew his bow and a single arrow from his quiver. The celebration would be a perfect time to attack the village as warriors were deep in their cups and unprepared. They'd fight, aye, but they'd make a sloppy show for it. Björn would need to try to get back to Iskygge as quickly as possible to warn them all, but he needed to be sure before alarming anyone.

  "Father?" A woman said in a brash version of what he assumed was meant as a whisper. A shadow betrayed her location in front of him to the left. She sounded irritated with the man, her father, though he couldn't tell where another figure could be located. Then, oddly, she added, "That's what I get for putting my trust in Loki."

  Björn inched closer. While she seemed to be a Dane based on her speech alone, it didn't mean she was there for nefarious means. And yet… Norse shield maidens could be every bit as fierce as a male warrior, and a forced conversion to Christianity under the Danish king didn't mean a person magically changed their beliefs—as he could acknowledge by the situation with King Olaf. What was this woman doing there?

  When she stepped into sight, Björn sucked in a breath. The moonlight revealed a tall, raven-haired beauty with pale, flawless skin. She was also nude. Unaware of his own movements, he crawled from the bushes, rose to his feet, all the while unfastening the thick cloak of bear fur from his shoulders. How could she stand it out here without a dress, or even a cloak of her own? The snow had gone, but the air was enough to snap the toes off the strongest of men if they lingered without footwear overlong.

  "Oh!" She jumped when she spotted him standing there, holding his cloak like a fool. Where was his bow and arrow?

  A quick glance at the ground where he'd hidden revealed that he'd left his weapons in favor of this idiotic move. Wonderful. This would be how he died. Her father would show up and…wait. "I heard you looking for your father," he said calmly. Best not give her reason to attack just yet. Mayhap she planned on seducing men and killing them when they were in the throes. He had to control his impulse to protect a beautiful woman, and to be wary of what she could do to him.

  She stepped closer, and the light caught her eyes. They were a pale blue, nearly silver. A shiver ran through him at the eerie color. Who was she? If she was from around the village, how had he never seen her before?

  The woman took the proffered cloak from his hands and wrapped it around her shoulders. The front swallowed her until all that was visible outside of the dark fur was her head. "Thank you. I really do not feel the cold much, though I guess you could say I am aware of it. Warmth is so much more pleasant…" As she let her words trail off she squinted at him. "Mayhap I am rambling overmuch. I am Hela."

  "Like the goddess?" His eyebrows rose, and he clasped his hands together behind his back, decided that was awkward and then gave in to crossing his arms over his chest. His woolen tunic was thick, but the loss of the cloak made him mourn the added warmth it provided.

  "Aye," she said, her gaze darting away from him toward the ground. "Family tradition, naming us after the gods."

  Was that what she had meant by not trusting Loki? "So…you are Hela, and your father is named Loki?" He wasn't sure if the gods would be honored or insulted by it. Well, Loki would probably be amused, if any of them.

  She snuggled deeper into the fur and he bit his lip to keep in the groan. How he envied that cloak at the moment. All that soft skin, longing for warmth.

  Warmth he'd be eager to provide… Stop thinking about it. You do not want a wife, so avoid things that could lead to having one. However, his father would likely reject the idea of his marrying a Dane, so he might be safe around her. Gods, stop this dangerous thinking!

  "What are you thinking about so intently?" Hela asked, eyes bright.

  "Nothing you should concern yourself with." Yet. He needed to determine why she was in Norway before he preceded in assisting her further—or kissing her full, pink mouth. As she licked her lips, his gaze followed her tongue's movement and hot longing settled in his gut. When was the last time he was with a woman? It was as if he couldn't be in the presence of this one for five minutes without losing his mind?

  Hela leaned in closer to him. "Can I ask you one question?"

  "Of course."

  "Where are we?"

  Everything was so much brighter on Midgard, and it was only nighttime. What would the landscape look like in the sun? "You never told me your name." She turned toward him and smiled. The man was handsome, with long, dark blond hair and sapphire eyes. His shoulders were broad, his muscles toned. Scars lightly dusted his chest above the top of his tunic here or there. One more visible than the rest followed the curvature of his left cheekbone. He was a warrior. One destined for Valhalla in the afterlife rather than her icy home.

  The twinge of disappointment seemed unfounded. She shouldn't wish to see him dead at all, but she would never see this warrior again who was so kind to her without knowing her. Not after she returned home. Loki wouldn't hesitate to put her back where he felt she belonged.

  The warrior raised a hand to his chest, resti
ng the palm over his heart, now only covered by a woolen tunic and the worn leather strap of his quiver because she had taken his cloak. He also had a sword strapped to his side. What had become of his bow though? She hadn't seen it. "I am Björn."

  The corners of her lips twitched. Björn meant bear. He was certainly as imposing and fierce as one. "Just Björn? Not Björn the Fierce or Björn the Killer of Men?"

  His eyes widened, and he barked out a laugh. Had her humor surprised him? "The Untouchable."

  Before Hela could stop herself, she reached a hand out from under the warmth of the cloak and stroked her fingers down his cheek, over the scar. "Not that untouchable, it would seem." His skin was warm to her touch, so different than the cold souls with no beating hearts within them back home. Her own heart thudded faster in her chest and she fought back the urge to sigh.

  He cupped her hand to his cheek. They were suspended there, in that moment, unblinking, barely a breath between them, before he lowered her hand from his face and cleared his throat. He didn't release her hand, however. "Why are you in Norway?"

  "Am I?" Her heart fluttered. She'd heard wonderful stories about Norway, had always longed to see the fjords. Hela didn't have any idea where she had been deposited. Loki hadn't said much, but had discarded her in the cold without a dress or a notion of what to do or say to the first person she saw. It was the grace of the gods that had her come across a warrior with a good heart and not one with a penchant for terrorizing women. She'd seen both kinds cross over into her realm.

  "Aye." He let go of her hand and peered at her through narrowed eyelids. "Why are you so far from Denmark?"

  She blinked. Whatever was he going on about? "Denmark?" She'd heard of that place as well. Were they near to each other? "I did not journey from Denmark." Not a lie, but she wished she understood why he thought she did. Did she look like a Dane? She supposed she needed to come up with a place of origin though. Mayhap she should have said she had come from Denmark, except…the handsome mortal didn't look pleased about it. Björn did nothing more than cross his arms and glower.

  "A number of your words have a Danish ring to them, so aye, I'd be a fool to believe you weren't a Dane." The tone of his voice held an unsubtle amount of animosity on the word Dane. She struggled to remember any of the rumbles of Midgard politics, but she honestly knew nothing other than the names of the peoples who worshiped their pantheon.

  "I'm not a Dane." She concentrated on her adaptation ability and added, "Speak to me in Norwegian so I can hear the difference."

  "I have been." His left eyebrow quirked up as though he dared her to continue to deny something she had not known she'd done.

  "I understood you perfectly," she said. Had her ability to know all languages caused confusion somehow? Or had Loki cursed her to speak like a Dane in a territory that would not take well to it? Come to think of it, that was just the sort of trick he would play so she'd ask to go home. "What was different about what you said from everything I said?"

  Björn rubbed his chin and stared at her with a furrowed brow, like he wanted desperately to figure her out and could not. "Well, aye, you would understand me. The differences are small. Words said slightly different. We speak the same language, mostly, but different too…" He shrugged his right shoulder. "It is only natural for two countries to speak a language in their own way; in time, it will probably be entirely different."

  But it wasn't now? This time, she was the one who furrowed her brow. "So…I am speaking your language, but too much like a Dane would speak it?"

  "Aye. That is what I said."

  She fidgeted with the cloak, clutching the fabric in her hands. "How do I speak more like a Norwegian then?"

  He stared at her.

  "Why are you looking at me that way? If I am in Norway, then clearly I should be speaking Norwegian." Her temper was rising. Why was he giving her a hard time about languages when he'd been nice to her before? Damn Loki's eyes. It had to be his doing. Had he really removed all her god-magic as well? She attempted to call forth the winds, but the chilled air remained the same. Definitely without powers as he'd said. She should be glad to speak a Norse language at all.

  "Are you all right?" Björn frowned at her. "You are…twitching and rambling under your breath."

  "I am not a Dane. I do not know why I am speaking it." Wait, the Danes were their enemies, weren't they? She thought that was right, though couldn't recall why they were at odds. Her anger at his needling her over her speech started to diminish. Should she be embarrassed instead? No, that didn't seem right either.

  "Has something…happened to you?" His eyes narrowed slightly with…concern?

  Were you harmed? Taken against your will?"

  "Not that I…" A thought occurred to her. She couldn't explain her real reason for being there, as without her powers she couldn't prove her claim anyway. "I don't remember anything. I know who I am. And my father was the last person I remember talking to, and then…here I was and there you were." She fluttered her lashes hoping she looked innocent and confused and not like she was simple-minded.

  Whatever internal debate Björn warred with was over as quickly as it began. He sat down and worked on removing his boots, which he handed to her. "They will be too big, but it will help until I can find some proper garments for you."

  She took the boots, clutching the supple leather and frowning at his bare feet. "What will you wear?"

  "I have gone without shoes in worse elements than this, and you might have been out here for a while. I would prefer giving you some relief from the cold until we can figure out why you were in these woods."

  She didn't miss the speculation in his gaze when he looked at her. He didn't believe her lie. She would need to become better at telling tales if she wanted to enjoy her stay. Her father had sabotaged her time here already, and mayhap hoped she'd have been attacked in the woods by an unsavory mortal so she'd go crying back to Niflheim and embrace her fate. She would not give up so easily.

  Sitting on the ground, she roughly tugged on the short boots and fastened the ties on the side, happily taking Björn's proffered hand when he helped her to stand. He was right—the boots were far too large, so she'd have to walk strangely to keep them on. Even with them tied as tightly as they could go. Thankfully the cloak was long enough to hide the evidence of her efforts.

  "Why are you upset?" Björn asked as he retrieved a bow and a single arrow from the underbrush. Her mood darkened further. Clearly, he'd been about to shoot the Dane in the woods before he realized she was a woman without clothing. She didn't know if it made her feel better or worse that she understood his caution, but her annoyance at her father was ruining her time away from her realm and that upset her all the more.

  "I am not a Dane," she repeated.

  "Where are you from then?"

  She shut her mouth with a snap, then said through gritted teeth, "I do not know."

  "I see." Sighing, Björn gestured for her to walk with him. "Let us find you something to wear and food, and then mayhap the healer can determine why you don't remember crucial details of your coming to be here."

  Nodding, she remained beside him through the woods, but she had nothing more to say. His earthy, masculine scent clung to the fur on the cloak. Something about him was…just…right. She had no idea what that thought meant or how she felt about it, especially since everything was going wrong from how she spoke to having no idea how to explain why or how she had come to be in Norway. She shuddered at the thought that it would only get worse…

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  About The Author

  USA TODAY Bestselling author, DAWN BROWER writes both historical and contemporary romance. There are always stories inside her head; she just never thought she could make them come to life. That creativity has finally found an outlet.

  Growing up she was the only girl out of six children. She is a single mother of two teenage boys; there is never a dull moment in her life. Reading books is her favorit
e hobby and she loves all genres.

  Also by Dawn Brower

  Broken Pearl

  Deadly Benevolence

  A Wallflower’s Christmas Kiss

  A Gypsy’s Christmas Kiss

  Snowflake Kisses

  Begin Again

  There You’ll Be

  Better as a Memory

  Won’t Let Go

  Enduring Legacy

  The Legacy’s Origin

  Charming Her Rogue

  Scandal Meets Love

  Love Only Me (Amanda Mariel)

  Find Me Love (Dawn Brower)

  Bluestockings Defying Rogues

  Earl of Harrington

  A Lady Hoyden’s Secret

  One Wicked Kiss

  Marsden Descendants

  Rebellious Angel

  Marsden Romances

  A Flawed Jewel

  A Crystal Angel

  A Treasured Lily

  A Sanguine Gem

  A Hidden Ruby

  A Discarded Pearl

  Novak Springs

  Cowgirl Fever

  Dirty Proof

  Unbridled Pursuit

  Sensual Games

  Christmas Temptation

  Linked Across Time

  Saved by My Blackguard

  Searching for My Rogue

  Seduction of My Rake

  Surrendering to My Spy

  Spellbound by My Charmer

  Stolen by My Knave

  Separated from My Love

  Scheming with My Duke

  Secluded with My Hellion

  Heart’s Intent

  One Heart to Give

  Unveiled Hearts